


On-Air Personalities

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: NXT, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Banter, Community: wrestlingkink, Flirting, Genital Piercing, Kink Meme, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corey is the bane of Tom's existence, except for the part where he's also the man of his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shut Up, Tom

**Author's Note:**

> [From a kink meme prompt...](https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=1036311#cmt1036311)
> 
>  
> 
> Rating subject to change.

"Shut up, Tom," Cory spat. "The Authors of Pain are obviously the second coming of..." something that Tom tuned out as he put another hash mark on the pad of paper in front of him.

"Are you done?" he asked when Cory's rant had wound down. "I just think that they haven't been really tested. Let's see what they can do in a real match, against an opponent they didn't take by surprise."

"I'll take _you_ by surprise, Tom," Cory snapped.

"Oh, you can try," Tom laughed.

Cory scoffed as Tom went back to calling the match, the vicious strikes by the Authors against some local talent, the double-team move slamming a poor blonde kid into the mat and pinning him, one, two, three. And Tom was left wondering what Cory meant.

***

"Bayley isn't disrespecting Asuka, she's just demanding what she has a right to, which is a rematch, I don't know what about that has got you riled up."

"Oh shut up, Tom, you're always defending Bayley but who's there to defend Asuka?"

"Other than herself?" Tom asked, putting another hash mark on his notepad.

"She deserves someone to have her back, is all I'm saying."

"That would be nice," Tom sighed, and caught Cory's brows furrowing in a grimace as they fell silent for Asuka's entrance music.

***

Tom sat down at the announce table and put on his headphones. He arranged his notes in front of him, some printed material from creative, his cheat sheet of the names of the moves of the newer people on the roster, and a notepad for him to scribble and draw on. He drew circles and spirals, or other pictures, between matches when he didn't have to keep up his running conversation with Corey.

Corey Graves, who sat next to him every damn week smelling like spicy patchouli and expensive retro hair pomade and clove cigarettes. Corey, usually dressed within an inch of his life except for now, the hottest part of the summer, when he got away with shirtsleeves. The man who snapped at him every other sentence and made fun of his ties and his dancing, the man he wanted to ride like a mechanical bull. Tom sketched a quick face, square jaw, narrowed eyes, cocked eyebrow. Pompadour styled like a jelly roll. He drew in ears and a neck, extending it down into shoulders.

Tom spaced out thinking about holding onto Corey's shoulders for dear life as they rolled together...he wanted to count every single one of his tattoos and trace them with his fingers and tongue. He started sketching them in, Corey's arms flexed in a fighting stance.

"Snap to it, Phillips, we're on in five," Corey said, snapping Tom out of his daydream as he sat down next to him at their table. He looked down at Tom's drawing, but didn't say anything at first. Tom covered it quickly with a stack of papers.

"Tom," Corey said.

"What."

"Is that anime," Corey deadpanned.

"Shut up," Tom groaned.

"That's your job," Corey said. Tom met his eyes and they regarded each other for a moment, skeptical.

"That's literally the opposite of my job, Corey, I'm a fucking broadcaster."

"Watch it," Corey said with sudden concern, "our mics go live any minute."

"Fuck it," Tom said. "You know? Fuck it. You don't want me here, let them can me for cursing, Jesus."

Corey looked wounded and was silent for a beat. "You think I don't want you here?"

A voice crackled in over their headsets. "And we're recording in five, four, three, two..."

Tom took a breath. "Welcome to NXT! We've got a great show for you tonight with Samoa Joe in the main event. I'm Tom Phillips and I'm here with Corey Graves on color commentary. Say hi, Corey."

"Hi, Corey," he grumbled, a guttural rasp in his voice. They looked at each other again, and something in Corey's expression, caught off guard, ungrounded, made Tom smile.


	2. Brand Split

After their taping was over, Tom got up without saying anything, taking off his headset, turning it off, and laying it down gently on the table. He grabbed his papers and walked away while Corey was lost in thought.

As he walked to the locker room to change out of his suit, Corey caught up with him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Phillips. We should talk,” he said.

Tom whipped around. He drew in a breath to say something snappish but when he saw the sincere expression in Corey’s eyes, he floundered. “What do you want to talk about,” he said.

Corey pursed his lips. “You did a good job out there tonight.”

“I always do a good job,” Tom said.

Corey looked to the side and folded his arms. “Shit’s sake, let me pay you a goddamn compliment.”

Tom swallowed hard, looking at the way Corey’s tattoos pulled and folded with his skin and hid under the edge of his shirtsleeves and collar.

“Um. Sorry. Thanks.”

Corey looked like he was going to say something else but before he could, Tom took off at a brisk pace to the locker where he kept his stuff so he could get out of his shirt and tie and jacket and get to his car and go home. He didn’t turn around to see Corey staring after him, face in his hands.

***

The WWE Draft on Smackdown was full of drama, and Corey Graves was on the scene covering every minute of it, but for the broadcast team, there was no televised reveal, just a meeting with Hunter. Corey was going to Raw, where Tom would be a backstage correspondent, and they’d be announcing Superstars together in addition to their NXT duties. Tom’s stomach rolled in excitement and dread. He’d have to stop doodling at the announce table, probably.

Afterward, Corey found Tom in catering, piling black olives and iceberg lettuce into something that might be a salad.

“We’re both on Raw,” he said.

“Guess so,” Tom said. 

“Are you really going to eat that?” Corey asked.

“No, it’s decorative, of course I’m fucking eating it.”

“Are you at least going to put dressing on it?”

Tom just looked at him flatly and dumped a scoop of sunflower seeds on top without looking at his plate.

“Um. See you Monday, then,” Corey said.

***

Their first Raw broadcast after the brand split went...well. Extremely well, as well as could be expected. Some wrestlers had to stand on a box to look taller than Tom, who was six feet tall when he wasn’t sitting down with a headset on.

He and Corey taped their Superstars matches and Tom did his best to have a positive opinion about the prospects of Jack Swagger and Titus O’Neill as a tag team. But Bubba Ray Dudley did a lot of work for him with a miked ring and a lot to say to his opponents.

The faces went over, in the end, and they wrapped things up. Corey didn’t tell him to shut up one single time during the broadcast, so he didn’t add any hash marks to the running tally. He was never sure if Corey knew that was what he was taking notes on, but he felt the man’s gaze a lot more keenly ever since that last NXT taping where he lost his temper.

He hung around backstage until he was needed, ready to do his interview, but he watched the broadcast on a monitor. Corey looked good; he looked great. He was confident and snotty and weirdly gracious and fucking great at his job. They were all working to tell a story. They were all doing their best.

***

Michael Cole and Byron Saxton clapped Corey on the back as soon as they got backstage, once they got the all clear from the producers to wave goodbye to the crowd and bail.

“Graves, you crushed it,” Byron said.

Michael shook Corey's hand. “Now just keep it up every week,” he said.

“Thanks,” Corey said, feeling suddenly emotional, like he'd regained a chance, like he could still do the work he had always dreamed of doing, even if he did it in a very sharp suit.

He and Tom locked eyes across a cement-floored backstage clearing. They stared for a moment before Corey strutted over, shoulders thrown back, every picture of a stud. “Not bad for my first time,” he said, leaning against a rack of folding chairs and getting into Tom's space.

Tom looked at him like he was pained to agree, but he nodded. “You made some great calls tonight. Sasha's match…” He shook his head. “God.”

“Damn right.” Corey let out a puff of breath. “Heading out tonight?”

“Nah, in the morning. I'm backstage on Smackdown too. It's only a three hour drive, just as soon do it in daylight.”

Corey stuck his tongue into his cheek and scratched the back of his neck. “Grab a drink?” he asked, and if Tom didn't know any better, he would have said he seemed shy. 

“Do you really want to see more of me?” Tom asked.

Corey shrugged, looking away. “One drink more, I guess. Be nice to talk shop.”

“Um, sure, I guess. Hotel bar okay?”

“Don't trust me to get you home safe, Phillips?” Corey said with a little more enthusiastic of a grin.

“Why, you have somewhere else in mind?”

“Nah, not really. You at the Marriott?”

“Gotta get those rewards points,” Tom said.

“Meet you there.” Corey winked and strode away.

Was this what being picked up felt like? Tom wondered.


	3. Aesthetics

Tom sat at a booth doodling absentmindedly in a tiny pocket sized book. He was facing the door, he thought, so Corey would see him, but he was startled by a tap on his shoulder.

“What are you working on?” Corey asked, swooping in past Tom and sitting across from him.

“You can’t really call this working on anything. It’s, uh, eyeballs and tiny ghosts chasing each other. And notes.”

“Can I see?” he asked.

Tom grimaced. “If you want.” He pushed the sketchbook over.

Corey flipped through and saw aliens, ghosts, pages of swirls and stars drawn so hard they tore the page, and a couple of sketches. Baron Corbin asleep in a folding chair, a strand of drool escaping his lips. Sasha’s face. Some stick figures labeled “Authors of Pain” with no other explanation.

Tom tapped his fingers on the table nervously.

Corey looked up. “You didn’t change,” he said.

“Neither did you,” Tom said with a fraction of defensiveness in his voice.

“Nah, I like you in a suit,” Corey said. He opened the sketchbook to a blank page. “Draw me,” he demanded.

“You haven’t even gotten a drink yet and you’re already being an ass.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem drawing me at Full Sail last week,” Corey countered.

“That’s different,” Tom said. “That was anime.” He cracked a tiny smile. The waitress came and took Corey’s order and brought him a beer and it got a lot more normal even as Tom felt Corey’s eyes on him as he looked up and down between the man and the paper trying to do something quick and not shitty.

“Here,” Tom said, turning the notebook around and pushing it over to Corey. He avoided making eye contact.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! That’s my scowl exactly.”

Tom ventured a glance up and Corey was beaming, unguardedly taking a cell phone photo of the drawing. “Oh god, this is going on Instagram,” he said, shaking his head.

“Really?” Tom said with a little discomfort. He tugged at his tie. He should have gone up to his room to change before meeting Corey but he got distracted driving to the hotel thinking about the man’s knuckle tattoos, of all things. He watched Corey’s fingers across the table, tapping at his phone.

“Should I put hashtag no filter or is that too much?” Corey asked, raising one eyebrow.

Tom rolled his eyes. “A filter might help.”

“It’s good work, Phillips! Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Pretty rich coming from you.” He took a big swallow, finishing his beer. He immediately decided he needed another.

Corey furrowed his brow and fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. “I just like to bust your balls out there a little. You know how it is.”

“I was never a wrestler,” Tom said with a dry exhale of breath. “I’ve never done it. Not everything is a work for me, I don’t assume I can say whatever I want and then people will brush it off later.”

Corey looked struck. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “I’m sorry,” he said, running his hands over his face. He nodded to himself and looked up, making eye contact with Tom. “I’m sorry. I’ve never meant any of it. I love working with you, I have from the very beginning, and you’ve only gotten better. You’ve got this deep old man voice coming out of the body of a teenager, for god’s sake, what am I supposed to say to you?”

“I’m twenty-six,” Tom said, grimacing.

“Can I see some ID?” Corey shot back, grinning a little bit.

“Asshole,” Tom said, but he smiled a little too.

“You’re catching on.” Corey waved the server over and ordered them another round of drinks.

“So when are you going to be on Superstar Ink,” he asked Tom, leaning in a bit. “What’s under that three button suit?”

“Love handles,” Tom said. “I don’t have any tattoos.”

“Come on, really?” He didn’t look like he was actually surprised.

“Believe it or not, I got out of Altoona without getting a tribal armband or whatever the fuck people were getting in, like 2002.”

Corey shook his head. “Come a little further west and you might have run into me at the shop. I was the piercer, though. I coulda put some real good holes in you.”

Tom swallowed a lot of beer without choking on it at all. “Don’t have any of those either.”

“I’m still certified,” Corey said. “I could hook you up.”

Now Tom coughed. “Yes, Corey, a nose ring would go splendidly with a charcoal suit.”

“If I can pull off these tattoos, you could pull off a little tiny bit of metal.” Corey sighed. “It’s been a long time, though.”

“What was your favorite thing to pierce?” Tom asked, feeling a little brave. This was okay. They were just talking. Corey wanted to talk.

Corey pushed his tongue into his cheek and shook his head. “Cocks,” he said, smiling a little, looking back at Tom.

Tom’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

Corey nodded.

“How many have you done?”

“Quite a few,” he said.

“Does it hurt?”

“It hurts like fuck, Tom,” Corey said.

“I mean, how do you know—wait.” Tom’s eyes went even wider.

“Yep. Did it myself. Wasn’t supposed to. Did it anyway.”

Only at that did Tom blush. But that didn’t stop him. “Do you still have it?” he asked.

Corey nodded.

Tom’s eyebrows crept practically up to his hairline. “Did you wrestle with it in?”

Corey laughed out loud and nodded again.

Tom swallowed hard and pushed his hair back from his face with one hand. “Wow.”

Corey shrugged, looking shiftily to the side. “What can I say. I appreciate the aesthetics. You’re an artist. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh,  _ aesthetics _ , is that what we’re talking about,” Tom said. “Sure. I like aesthetics.”

Corey raised an eyebrow. “Bet you’ve got a real good eye for them.”

“I’ve looked at an...aesthetic or two.” Tom was sweating. Why was he still wearing a damn tie? He loosened it more.

“Tom,” Corey leered, “I’m really in the mood for art appreciation.”

“I think the light’s better up in my room. You know. For aesthetics.” Was this what picking someone up felt like? he wondered, laughing internally.

“If you insist,” Corey said. He motioned for the check.


	4. Stay Down

They rode the glass elevator in the lobby in cautious silence. Corey leaned against a wall with his arms folded and his legs spread. He looked at Tom, openly hungry, appraising. Tom felt weird feeling wanted. It was something a person could get used to.

The bell dinged for their floor. Tom dragged his suitcase behind him until he felt his load lighten. Corey had grabbed it. “Just get the door,” he said.

Tom felt eyes on him as he led them to room 914 and pulled a key card out of his wallet. The light on the lock went green and the door opened with a clunk. He held the door for Corey to come in.

It was a king bed room with a small sitting area. Corey shrugged off his jacket and threw it down on the sofa. He snagged a chair from the desk and rolled it around, sitting down on it backwards with his legs wide apart, feet planted on the floor. He leaned his head on his folded arms.

Tom grabbed the suitcase, dropped it near the bed, and came to sit by Corey. He was finally able to get his tie off, undoing the knot but leaving it dangling from his collar. He undid a button and rolled his neck, stretching out. He caught Corey’s eyes.

Corey didn’t say anything, just relaxed further, keeping Tom’s gaze.

Tom smiled but narrowed his eyes. “Appreciating?”

“Quite.”

Tom let out a rueful chuckle. “I’m sure there’s a lot to look at.”

Now Corey frowned. “Why wouldn’t there be?” He stood up from the chair.

“This is all still pretty new to me,” Tom said, gesturing at his tailored jacket and pants. “I’m barely a couple years out of a dirty Metallica t-shirt and a college radio booth.”

“I would have loved to have known you then.”

“I had a dorky haircut and a communication degree. It got me in the door here. Didn’t get me too far on the dating scene.”

Corey rolled his eyes and unbuttoned one of his cuffs. “I think you could do pretty well if you tried a little harder, or at all.”

“Oh what the hell do you know? I was never a hot shit indie heartthrob, nobody ever threw themselves at me.”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing right now, Phillips?” Corey asked, finally closing the distance between them and grabbing Tom by the front of his shirt.

Tom’s eyes went wide as Corey tilted his head and planted a kiss hard on his lips. Tom’s brain locked up and he almost forgot to respond until he felt Corey start to pull away. At that, Tom threaded his fingers through Corey’s suspenders and tugged. He pressed in, deepening the kiss, opening up as Corey came for him with tongue and teeth. Corey tasted like cinnamon and smelled even better this close than he did at the broadcast table.

They kissed frantically, staggering back and knocking over a chair. Corey spun Tom around and backed him up to the bed. Tom tensed up at the thought, fear and a tinge of shame washing over him.

“What is it?”

“Just a little out of my element,” Tom said.

“How far out?”

“I’ve never...um.” Tom stopped, burying his face in Corey’s shoulder.

“We don’t have to do this,” Corey said in a startlingly gentle voice.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Graves,” Tom said, grabbing Corey by the collar. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Just show me what to do.”

Corey made an appraising expression. “Fair enough.” He snagged a finger in the waistband of Tom’s trousers, sliding over to his belt buckle and his fly.

“No,” Tom said, “You first. I want to see your...aesthetics.”

“Hmm. Okay. Take off your jacket and sit on the bed,” Corey said. He was firm, now.

Tom did what he said, sitting down hard and bouncing a little, and throwing his jacket down behind him.

Corey looked at him sideways, tilting his head. He palmed his growing erection with his right hand, then undid his belt. He unbuttoned his fly and slowly dragged down the zipper.

Tom’s eyes felt as wide as saucers as Corey withdrew his cock from his white briefs. It was long and thick and true enough, had a silver piercing, a ring, going through the tip of his cock and out the bottom of his glans.

Corey just stood there with a small, confident smile. He held his cock at the base and watched Tom take in the sight. Tom drew in a shaky breath. Corey gave himself a slow stroke, sliding down from the base, over the head, and back down to where he had been holding it. He stepped forward to close the distance with Tom.

Tom fell backwards on the bed, holding himself up with flat palms, fingers spread. Corey pressed up against him, slotting between his legs. 

“I know you like what you see,” Corey hissed.

Tom nodded, sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead.

Corey’s hand slowly found its way to the back of Tom’s head, and he threaded his fingers through his hair. Stepping back, he pulled Tom forward and off the bed. Without saying a word, he pressed down on Tom’s head. The man got the picture and knelt, first on his right knee, then his left, stumbling forward, being caught and righted.

“You know what I want you to do. Can you do it?” Corey asked.

Tom sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said.

Corey brushed the head of his hard cock against Tom’s cheek, grinning at the sight. 

Tom opened his mouth, dazed and overstimulated, the lights of the hotel room suddenly seeming harsh and dizzying, and he licked over the head of Corey’s cock, feeling the cold metal and the hot flesh intertwined. He tried to remember how to do this, thinking back every porno he’d watched, furtively.

Corey’s fist tightened in his hair. “Cover your teeth with your lips. Relax your jaw.”

Tom did as he was told, and looked up with reverent eyes at Corey, who smiled and slid his dick past Tom’s wet lips and into his warm, waiting mouth. Tom sucked, rocking his whole body back and then forward, feeling Corey move deeper inside him. He sucked him down so far he felt the metal ring brush the back of his throat and he gagged, tried not to but did it anyway, and Corey pulled back.

“Easy, tiger,” Corey said as Tom pulled off all the way, coughing and catching his breath. “As hot as that was.”

Tom threw himself back into the task, trying to take Corey’s direction, faster, slower, wetter. He licked at the head and the underside of the shaft when taking it all into his mouth was too much and stroked with his hand too. He threw everything he could think of at the task, moaning around Corey’s cock, whimpering, licking, and sucking. All the while, Corey spoke to him in in a low voice. “That’s it. Take it all. Such a pretty mouth.” His tattooed hands glided over Tom’s head and shoulders, caressing his face, pulling his hair. “So good. I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.”

Soon enough Corey eased Tom back, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “Come here, stand up.” Tom gripped his hand and let himself be pulled off the floor. Corey led them both to the bed, kicking off shoes, helping Tom unbutton his shirt, shedding layers and crawling together under the covers. Tom flung his boxers away and he was rock hard too, and he felt Corey’s eyes on him.

“What,  _ now _ you blush?” Corey laughed, pulling Tom closer into a kiss. Tom felt Corey’s big hand wrap around the pair of their cocks, stroking them together, still wet with Tom’s spit. It was all he could do to wrap his arms around Corey’s body and hold on, feeling himself come, Corey too, together. He thought of Corey’s knuckle tattoos. Stay down. Or just. Stay.

He wanted to stay.


End file.
